


How to Murder A Dead Man

by Geeks4Squeaks



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Crimes & Criminals, Emotionless, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I love you I hate you, John - Freeform, John is like a teddy bear, London, Love, Murder, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Slow Burn, Stubborn, Virgin Sherlock, but we love him, cases, sherlock is a pussy, smut later, virgins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-14 03:30:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11199564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geeks4Squeaks/pseuds/Geeks4Squeaks
Summary: 221c Baker Street. Home Sweet home. After looking for places to stay for a long time, you end up finding 221c Baker street. The flat was nice and comfy and your neighbors where... interesting given they were the infamous Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Slowly you become friends with the duo and join in on a few of their adventures; murder, mystery, suicide, betrayal, happiness, and confusion, and so much more so come. Enjoy!This is a Sherlock x Reader story and there will be John x Reader and more stories later! I hope you enjoy. Feel free to make requests as well and I will see what I can do.





	1. The Stumbling Fool

**Author's Note:**

> I was a stumbling fool, for sure. I walked around London looking for places to stay, but I had overlooked the flyer which would change my life forever, several times.

~Y/N= Your First Name. L/N= Your Last name~

~*~*~

I walked aimlessly down the cold streets of London. It was March, but cold. A slight breeze whipped at me, chilling me to the bone. I needed to find a place to stay... to rent, something! I couldn't afford the flat I once thought was cheap. I barely made £176.00 a week. Wow, that seems like a lot! No. No it doesn't. Between spending it on food, daily uses, and the flat rent, I can't keep up anymore. This was my last try; 221 Baker Street. I had been hanging out in London for a few days in hope to find an affordable place to rent. London also had great new opportunities for jobs. I had needed a fresh start. 

A women named Ms. Hudson owns an empty flat. I had saw her few flyers around London lately. She says no one has lived in it for years and lowered the price drastically to try to get people to move in. No one did. 

Finally, I knocked on the large door knocker and waited for an answer. A small woman with a floral print skirt and white blouse answered the door.

"Oh, hello, dear! You must be Y/N L/N." Ms. Hudson smiled. "Come in out of the cold, dear!" She ushered me in the door way. I looked around slightly. There was a stair case going up, one door on the floor level and another hallway to the left.

"Would you like a cuppa tea, Y/N?" Ms. Hudson asked sweetly. I nodded thankful. She smiled and opened her door, I stood outside the door. I wasn't sure if I was invited in... or what I was to do in general. "Oh, come in! Oh," she smiled, "You have such good manners, unlike the boys upstairs." As I was about to ask, a voice called out from upstairs.

"Ms. Hudson? Do we have a client?" the man asked. Ms. Hudson was about to answer before a deep voice answered back.

"Of course not, John. The woman downstairs is probably interested in 221C..." the man mumbled. 'John' nodded and half waved at me and disappeared back into the room above.

"That was Sherlock and John, they were the boys I was talking about," Ms. Hudson explained, handing me a warm cup of tea. I smiled, the name Sherlock and John sounding familiar. 

~*~*~*~

After the tea, Ms. Hudson lead me down the hallway to the door. It read 221C Baker Street, etched in small print on the door. She unlocked the door that revealed steps down to the flat.

"Be careful, dear, these steps are older than they look. I am sorry," Ms. Hudson said truthfully.

"Oh, that's fine, as long as they serve their purpose!" I said my voice shaking slightly. I could fix these stairs easily, right? Probably not. We reached the bottom of the stairs a few steps later. The flat was blank, empty, save for the small amount of peeling wallpaper. A few windows let a dull light in. The windows were up at the top rather than centered in the middle all but one. One big window stood centered in the middle of the left wall. A white stained curtain made the light in the room dance while cars zoomed past outside. A fireplace stood against the back wall, it looked old; dust and crumbles were scattered around it. All of the floor was carpet.

There was an exceptionally large crack in the right wall, but nothing I couldn't cover up or fill in. There was also an oddly placed mirror snug in the left corner of the room. The main room itself was small, but comfortable. Hidden from the staircase view was a narrow hallway. Ms. Hudson waved her hand absently to the hallway and we walked down the hall; Ms. Hudson giving me space to look and ponder.

Three doors were in the hallway, at the very end was a small window with an empty flower pot. I entered the first door on the left side of the hallway. The door creaked open and revealed a small room. Dust fell from the door and the big window shined into the room casting a dusty look. A closet lay off to the side. I am guessing this was a bedroom. I could easily live here, I don't have too many belongings and seemed modest and homely. After I walked out of the bedroom, I reached over for the door on the right side of the hallway. I turned the doorknob which fell off and hit the floor with a thud. Both Ms. Hudson and I jumped.

"Oh, dear! I am so sorry about that! It's been so long since I have been down here. Me and my hip," Ms. Hudson explained placing her hand on her hip. I chuckled.

"It's not a problem. I understand, my Nana used to have a bad hip, and this place is better than the place I have right now," I smiled reassuringly though it wasn't all true. The rent was better on 221c but in less shape. Ms. Hudson nodded and I bent down to pick up the knob. I bumped the door open with my hip to get in. Inside revealed a bathroom. The tub was a big Victorian styled tub with a shower head attached to the wall. The shower curtain was a yellow stained color. The toilet seemed to be in good condition, as well as the sink. A big circular mirror was placed above the sink. I nodded my head carefully. This would do.

Next, I explored other room on the right. It seemed to be a kitchen. Surprisingly it looked modern, new, and working. A small window shined some light in. I had wondered if Ms. Hudson had made sure the kitchen was updated.

Finally, after I felt like I explored very nook and cranny of 221C Baker Street, we made our way upstairs again.

~*~

"Well, what do you think?" Ms. Hudson asks, her hands clasped in front of her as if praying. I fidgeted with my fingers.

"I-" I began.

"She'll take it." The deep voice from before said. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I looked up, my eyes meeting his, but he kept his eyes glued to his phone. 

"Sherlock, it's not polite to do that!" Ms. Hudson scolding standing up. I fought for words. The man, Sherlock, had dark curly locks and he stood tall and lean. I tilted my head slightly.

"No, no, it's fine Ms. Hudson!" I smiled trying to defend him. "I was going to say I would take it." With that Ms. Hudson sighed relieved and clapped her hands together.

"Oh, goodness! I am so delighted! Finally some nice fellow woman faces around here," Ms. Hudson seemed filled with joy, her eyes sparkling in happiness. "Aren't you excited to have a new neighbor, Sherlock?"

"Yes, delighted," Sherlock said in a flat tone showing no interest before walking out. The other man from before, John, I recalled, came down the stairs next, he looked and me and flashed a smiled. Then he did a double take as Ms. Hudson handed me the key to my new home.

"Y-You're moving here?" John asked, smiling slightly.

"Yes," I smiled, then I stuck my hand up warmly, "My name is Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you."

"John Watson," he said shaking my hand. John waved a hand to the direction of the door which still hung open after Sherlock, "and that grumpy man out there in the cab is Sherlock Holmes." John said. I chuckled and nodded my head. Through a small window by the door I could see Sherlock sitting in the cab, texting and holding the door open.

"Well, I must be off! Pardon Sherlock's approach, he's very busy lately." he paused looking over to Sherlock. " Well we'll have to catch up sometime. D-Do you need help bringing anything in, or anything?" John asked. He had stopped midway with his step and spun around. He seemed to forget that he was leaving.

"No, that's alright. I can handle it. Thank you! It seems like you have places to be," I laughed. John smiled.

"Alright, well um.... we're just upstairs if you need us.. when we're back. Nice meeting you," John said awkwardly before quickly walking away. I turned around as John shut the door.

Ms. Hudson was beaming.

"Well. I should start getting things moved in, hm?" I suggested. Ms. Hudson nodded quickly.

~*~*~

Two hours had gone by since I first signed the contract. I didn't have much luggage, the only tedious part was actually packing up everything. I had called an old friend: Darrel. He owed me a favor and owned a truck. With his help, I was able to haul all of my belongings to 221C in one trip. 

After thanking him, I set to work. I wanted to make this feel like home as soon as possible. 

After another two hours of cleaning, dusting, peeling off old wallpaper, and scrubbing off mold and every other nasty being in the flat, I set to work feeling less motivated than before and tired.

Slowly, I began unpacking and my clothes into my room first. Hanging blouses and the very few dresses I owned, organizing the rest in drawers, shoes on the floor. 

Next was my bed, which proved to be a tedious task, pushing and shoving the damned thing through the hallway, then the doorway. Finally getting the the bed through the door and pushing it against the wall, I quickly made the bed, throwing on the blankets and pillows. 

I sighed as I plopped down on my bed. I hadn't realized how tired I was until my eyelids felt heavy and I drifted off. 

 

~*~*~

A knock at the door suddenly awoke me. I scrambled up, falling over my boxes that I had left unpacked in the centre of the living room. I raced up the stairs and glanced at my watch. 7:00 pm. I had slept for about an hour. I groaned- straightening my clothes and hair. 

I swung the door open to a startled John Watson.

"I-I am sorry. Did I wake you up or something?" John asked looking slightly guilty.

"No, no! Of course not. I was just putting some things away," I smiled warmly. John smiled and nodded.

"Well, since we have a new neighbor we prepared a nice meal for a welcome present," he said. "So um... if you're hungry, you can come up to our flat and eat."

"Oh that's so nice," I awed. These people are so friendly... "I am just famished, what are we eating?" I asked.

"Oh some simple pasta that Ms. Hudson made" he said.

"Pasta sounds good." I replied. John nodded and he lead me up the stairs to 221B Baker Street.

The door opened with a quiet creak. The flat had a similar set up to mine. A fire place in the middle of the room, but an open kitchen area and a hallway left of the door. The place was clean, no papers, no rotten food lying around like some teenage boys would do. These were men after all. Sherlock sat in a neat suit. He looked natural in it as if he wore the purple-maroon shirt every day.

"This is such a nice, clean flat," I commented. I was truly impressed. Sherlock, scoffed and John shot him a deadly glare.

"Thank you," John smiled and lead me to the kitchen. The pasta was set out on the table and there were biscuits and jam laid out as well as some tea on the stove.

"Cup of tea?" he asked and I nodded. I glanced around the place as John turned his back. I found it slightly rude and uncomfortable when people looked around my home when I was looking. So I did it when he was not. Suddenly I spotted in the desk that sat cleaned off and neat, papers and odds shoved into the drawers. I couldn't help but smile, glancing up at Sherlock who stared back at me. He smirked slightly knowing I noticed what John had done.

"Here," John said, handing me the warm tea and sitting me down in the kitchen. "Come on, Sherlock. Time to eat."

Sherlock bounced up from his chair, his face void of any expression. He sat down neatly at the end of the table. Ms. Hudson, who I hadn't known was in the corner of the kitchen, sat down on the other side. It seemed like a family. We passed the big bowl of pasta around and plopped it on our plates. Next were the biscuits and jam.

"Well, eat up!" Ms. Hudson cooed. She gracefully ate, carefully putting the pasta in her mouth savoring the taste. I took a bite and sighed. This was good pasta. I winked at Ms. Hudson who chuckled and smiled in response.

"So. Where do you move from?" John asked, he shot a glance at Sherlock as if saying 'keep your mouth shut.'

"Well I moved here from just the other side of London, but I only moved here about a year ago. I had lived in Mitcham until I came here." I said.

"Mhmm," John said thoughtfully.

"What's it like down there," Ms. Hudson asked trying to strike up a conversation.

"Oh well, its rather rainy... but I guess that's all of London and the UK." I chuckled. "The houses and towns are rather beautiful. The architecture there is wonderful. However it's sort of bland I would say. There isn't massive buildings you could explore for days, no tall buildings. However it has it's own beauty." I explained. I feeling of nostalgia washed over me, remembering my home.

"Is that where you grew up?" John asked. Sherlock opened his mouth slightly, then shut it.

"No. I grew up in Brighton. My family moved to Mitcham when I was fout. I wanted badly to move back to Brighton, but I couldn't afford the prices they were asking," I said slightly embarrassed.

John nodded. "Yes, Brighton is pricey indeed."

"Well, enough about me. What about you? Just some basic information?" I asked, spreading strawberry jam onto my biscuits.

"Well. I served as an army doctor in Afghanistan. I now work part time at a clinic. I do a lot of work with Sherlock, however." John said.

"And what is it you two do?" I ask.

"We solve crimes, murders, mysteries, etc. I am what they call a consulting detective. John Watson is my partner. I can identify and deduce everything. Such as when John came down to ask you for dinner you were sleeping. You have small marks on you neck and arms where your couch or chair left imprints while you slept. You have worked many different jobs such as a librarian, nanny, museum guard and guide, even a bar tender once." Sherlock blurted out. His quietness getting the best of him. I was left speechless, as was everyone else. He'd talked so fast I could barley catch what he was saying.

"T-That's... that's amazing," I breathed out. I was speechless.

"Yes, quite so. Sherlock.... he has the ability to deduce and.. tell someones life story if he really wanted to." John looked down at his plate shaking his head slightly. Sherlock seemed pleased with John's answer. 

Once again I was speechless.

"Wow..." I mumbled. I didn't expect... what was I expecting? A few awkward moments of silence passed.

After we'd all finished, John had us pile the dishes in the sink. Ms. Hudson left for her flat after she said her goodbyes and wished me a goodnight. 

"Well. The pasta was very good." I commented. "Thank you, for inviting me."

John smiled, "It's no problem, we enjoyed your company and are looking forward to having a new face around here."

"Well, it's nice to know I have friendly neighbors," I smiled as John showed me out of 221B. "Oh and, it's nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes." I added. It was only fair and polite to include the other owner of the flat.

"Just Sherlock will do," he commented without bothering to look up. I nodded before heading down the stairs back to 221C Baker Street.


	2. I Am No Nancy Drew

A week later.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I was currently working half-time mornings and early evenings at a local library, and half-time at The London Cups pub as a bartender evenings to late nights. It was hard to have just packed up and left my little hometown and get a job within four days, but I was willing to work hard for it.

I sighed, it was only 2:00 pm on a calm Wednesday. I still had about ten minutes to go before I was released of my shift to go home and sleep for about another three hours and then go to the bar to start my evening shift. 

I leaned back in my chair, flipping the page of The Lord of the Flies. I had read it once when I was in grade school but it didn't hurt to reread it.

"Hey, Y/N! I tried to get here a bit earlier today, you can leave if you'd like," I nearly jumped out of my skin as Chloe entered the building. She was another part-time employee who took the shift after me. 

"Oh yes, of course!" I smiled and pack the book, my keys, phone, and empty coffee mug into my side bag. We shared a quick goodbye before I stepped out side.

The sky was a soft grey, it looked like it was going to rain. If it were to rain it wouldn't be so bad since I only lived about three blocks away from here. I began to walk fast, the sky darkening quickly. Within ten minutes I arrived home, 221C Baker Street. 

I hung my shoulder bag, coat, and hat up on the rack and sat headed to the kitchen, grabbing an apple before sitting down on my navy blue couch. I looked around. I was fully moved in now. I even had filled the empty flower pot at the end of the hall with a small yellow sedum plant.

I sighed again, looking up to the clock to see I still had about two hours and a half until I needed to bar tend. With that, I slowly drifted off.

~*~*~

After my alarm clock on my watch went off I changed into a black T-shirt, capri pants, and tied my hair up into a neat pony tail. It was regulation to have at least short hair, or if long, tied up and a black shirt. With that, I headed out the door, swinging my coat around my shoulders.

"Taxi!" I called, raising my hand in the cool air. A taxi driver pulled up to the curb and I gave him the address to the bar. It was that far away from here, but it was chilly, and I didn't feel like walking. 

~*~

"Oi, Y/N! Ow's it goin'?" A common patron asks, his words slightly slurred. It seemed like everyone who had a drink got drunk it seconds. It was odd.

"Good, and what can I get for you today?" I ask, leaning over the edge of the counter.

"What eva's on the tap," he responded in his thick cockney accent. I smiled and nodded as I turned around to fill a glass.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but have you seen-" a familiar voice said. I set down the glass for the patron and turned my attention to him.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes!

"Ms. L/N, I hadn't realized you worked here." he said, staring at you, before continuing. "Have you seen this man around here?" he asked, showing me a picture of a man. He was heavier set, dark eyes and dark hair. I nodded my head.

"Yes, I think so. He is familiar," I muttered. "I have only been working here for five days, though. I could've mistook him for one of our patrons here." I doubted myself slightly. I didn't want Mr. Holmes to go on a wild goose chase on a whim that I had. Sherlock stared at me, as if reading me like an open book. Well... he probably was reading me like an open book. 

"Would you like to come with us? I think you may be of use," he said matter-of-factly. 

"I only just got here a few minutes ago. My shift doesn't end until another few hours," I replied quickly. I had always dreamed of going out and solving mysteries and crimes since I read my first Nancy Drew books. Now however, as amazing as it sounded, I couldn't. I didn't want to risk getting fired etc. Mr. Holmes noticed my hesitation and spoke.

"There is another bar tender coming in within a few minutes, correct?" He asked. 

"Yes," I responded slowly. Hope flared up in me. He flashed me a quick smile.

"Then let's go," he responded, walking away from the counter. I stood speechless before I scurried out, untying the apron I had on and throwing it aside. I snatched my coat up out of the employee room and rushed out. In doing so I ran right into Stacy - the other pub worker I worked with through my shifts. 

"Y/N, what's the rush? Are you leaving?" he asks.

"Uh, family emergency." I said scooting past him. He nods thoughtfully. 

"Of course, I will tell the boss. Best wishes for you and your family," he said and I nodded. I felt bad for lying to him but this was my one chance! 

I darted out of the stuffy pub into the cold street. I was smiling like an idiot, but who cares! My eyes danced around trying to find Mr. Holmes again, but I couldn't. My smile faltered and I let my shoulders drop. 

"Come on , now. We haven't got all day!" Sherlock's voice rang out. I turned my attention to where his voice was directed. In a taxi, a few meters away, was Sherlock Holmes holding the door open for me. I let out a sigh of relief and ran over to the taxi, climbing in.

We sat in silence as the taxi pulled away. I fidgeted with my hands, the silence was awkward. After a bit, I began thinking about my job at the bar. What happens if they find out it was no family emergency? I would surely get fired.

"Where are we going?" I spoke up. Sherlock turned his attention from the window to me.

"To the crime scene," he said. 

"Crime scene?" I asked. Crime. "What happened? A break in?" Sherlock scoffed.

"A double murder," he said, amusement flickering in his eyes. I sucked in a sharp breath and gazed out the window. My excitement faltered slightly. Would I see someone... dead? Blood and all? Or have they picked up the body already? I shivered at thought. 

~*~

We arrived at the crime scene just as the sun was going down. We were in a junk yard, rusty piles of metal were stacked everywhere and cockroaches ran about making me shiver again.

"Sherlock, it's about time. Who's this?" a man asks, putting his hands on his hips. Sherlock nodded at me.

"This is Y/N L/N. She knows who David Bordigac," he explained. "Y/N, Detective Inspector Lestrade." Detective Lestrade stepped forward and shook my hand. Lestrade gave Sherlock a quick look as if to say 'another one?' 

We walked over to the scene where a man lay motionless on the floor, a dark red substance pooled around his head. I looked away quickly and took a deep breath. The blood hadn't really bothered me, it was more the fact that we were all standing around a dead body, happily observing it. Or at least Sherlock Holmes was. He knelt down, his eyes darting around the man's lifeless body. 

I stood a few meters away, fidgeting with my sleeves. What was I to do? Why had he brought me here anywhere? I was nearly useless standing around like a big old loaf. Lestrade glanced at me several times, then finally came over to me.

"Why did he bring you here?" he asked. I shrugged. I truly didn't know. 

"Where is John?" I asked. He said he worked with Sherlock, didn't he?

"Most likely working at the surgery; couldn't get out or something." Lestrade muttered. That still didn't ease my anxiety of why I was brought here though. 

"Y/N," Sherlock called out. I jumped in response.

"Yes?" I asked. Sherlock didn't meet my eyes.

"Has this man ever been to the pub you work at. At all, even once?" He asked, finally meeting my eyes. I stared down at the body. There was always so many people coming in and out of the pub how could I possibly keep track? This man however, looked familiar. His name started with a... B? Bob? Billy? Briggs? 

"Yes... I think so." I said slowly, I saw Sherlock's shoulders fall slightly and immediately I looked down ashamed. This was a full on crime scene! Someone died! I wanted to help catch whoever did this, but I also didn't want to give out false information and jeopardize someones life.

"No, no, no. You have to know, for sure, if he was there. Think harder than that, Y/N," He said, throwing his arms about. I mumbled a small okay and thought long and hard. His face did look familiar, yes I was certain of that now. 

"Yes. He came in last Thursday around 6:00 pm." I blurted out, eager to prove myself again. 

"Good. Now what did he order," Sherlock asked.

"Why is that even relevant to-" Lestrade began before Sherlock held up his hand and Lestrade stopped talking at once.

"What did he order, Y/N?" he asked again. I wasn't sure of that... but I knew everyone loved The London Cups specialty drink: The Irish Scott. Ironic, I know, but it was fairly good. Well, at least that is what people say, I never had the chance to try it. Otherwise, other people ordered what ever was on the tap. Which just happened to be The Irish Scott..

"The Irish Scott." I finalized, now certain of myself. I was expecting Sherlock to smile at me, instead, he frowned. 

"We're heading back to The London Cups to have a drink, Lestrade," Sherlock said, walking away from the scene. I hurried off to catch up to his long strides. 

"What? That's all? You can't go off and drink on duty!" Lestrade called out. Sherlock have a short dry laugh.

"I am not on duty," he muttered.

~*~*~

"Mr. Holmes... I don't think I can go in there. My pub mate, Stacy, is in there and I told him that I had to leave for a family emergency. I really don't want him reporting to my boss..." I trailed off. The cab slowed down, then stopped right on the corner of Greshill Street; the Street which The London Cups, sat on. 

"When does he leave for his shift?" Sherlock sighed.

"Around 7:00 pm." 

"What time is it now." He stated. It wasn't a question. I flicked my watch over and say that it was nearly 7:00 already. 

We climbed out of the cab and headed into the pub. I looked the other way, and pulled my scarf up around my face just as Stacy looked to us.

"Ah, what can I get you?" He asked, his tone friendly. 

"One of The Irish Scott, please," he said. I grumbled. He didn't even ask me what I wanted. I shook that rude thought from my head. He doesn't have to, I wouldn't expect him to either. 

"Comin' right up, sir," Stacy said before scurrying off. Sherlock picked a table in the corner and sat down. I followed him and sat down on the other side.

"What do you notice, Y/N?" Sherlock said, his baritone voice rumbling in my head. 

"What am I supposed to be looking at to notice?" I ask, turning my gaze towards the patrons in the pub.

"The people," he said. The people? Most of them were men. The few women there were dozing off but everyone had a drink in their hand. Okay... So what wasn't I noticing that Sherlock did? Just then, Stacy came around, setting the drink on the table, I flinched and scratched my head, putting my hand on my face blocking his view from me.

"There you are. Have a good day," he nodded and left. I sighed a breath of relief. Sherlock, scooted the drink towards me.

"Drink up. It's my treat." Sherlock said, leaning back and watching my like a hawk. I stood stock still.

"I mean no disrespect but you don't seem to be the type of man to give treats," I said. Sherlock's mouth turned at the corners slightly, he was amused. When he said nothing further, I gave in and took a sip of it.

Caramel.

It was the first taste that I recognized. Caramel? In beer? I continued to sip little by little, soon the taste became tangy and tart. It seemed to buzz and tingle my tongue. Sherlock watched me most of the time besides looking to whatever was behind me and texting someone quickly.

"How do you feel?" He asked once I was done, leaning forward. His nose was inches away from mine and he looked back and forth at my eyes.

"Fine, why?" I ask. The words felt funny in my mouth and my throat tingled uncomfortably. 

"Oh, but you're not," Sherlock breathed out. "Look around, and tell me what you see now."

"The same things. Most of the patrons are all men, and they all have a drink in their hand," I commented confused. Sherlock rolled his eyes and muttered something about tiny brains.

"What drink are they all holding?" He asked.

"The Irish Scott." I said. Sherlock nodded. I looked back. Now I saw it. They all seemed to be drunk. Their faces were pale, eyes bloodshot and red. They swayed on their feet and mumbled various things.

"They're all drunk?" I tried.

"Possibly," Sherlock said, then his eyes darkened. "Or drugged." 

"Drugged?" I asked.

"Yes.. I believe so." He said.

"What drug?" I asked. 

"A type of benzodiazepine mixed with Valium, I believe. It's alcohol in pill form to put it easy but mixed with Valium, it can be like a memory drug. Makes you forget or black out... but from what... what do they want you to forget?" Sherlock muttered.

"How do they drug people then?" I ask, my eyes feeling heavy. I yawned.

"Through The Irish Scott," Sherlock said. I froze.

"I just drank that!" I panicked. I had work tomorrow! I was being drugged! What would happen to me? Sherlock noticed my distress.

"Calm down. You'd have to drink about two to three cups to get the full effect. You'll be alright." he assured. 

"And what happens if you're a really light weight drinker?" I ask quietly. Sherlock paused. 

"The effects will be more adamant, quick, and stronger." He said slowly. "You're a light weight drinker, aren't you." I nodded and Sherlock grabbed at his hair, angry. "Dammit!" I looked around awkwardly. 

"I hadn't made that deduction. Most of my deductions told me you weren't I was so careful about that!" He said as we walked out of the pub. I buried my face into my scarf and tucked my hands in my coat pockets. 

"It's alright. I forgive you for drugging me on accident," I mumbled smiling at my own silly words. How silly was this situation? 

"You're apologizing to me for getting you drugged?" Sherlock asked, swinging around, his coat flying like a cape. He stood right before me, I had to look up a bit. I was shorter, yes, but I also didn't have heels on today. 

"Yes," I responded. Sherlock took a deep breath, seeming confused at my words. 

"How do you feel?" He asked. "The drug has different effects on everyone."

"I feel tired." I mumbled. Sherlock nodded, calling a taxi quickly. We climbed inside.

"And?" He asked, leaning forward.

"Weak?" I tried. I really didn't know. He slipped off his glove from his hand and felt my forehead. His hands were cold and they felt nice on my head. He mumbled something before leaning back and looking out the window.

"Fascinating.." he muttered. 

"What is?" I asked, fighting to stay awake. 

"The women in the pub had almost the same effects as you did... while the men all had similar effects. That must mean whatever is truly in that drink effects everyone differently, but depending on your gender-" That was all I remember hearing before a dozed off. I remember feeling bad for not listening, but then again, it seemed almost like he was talking to himself. 

~*~*~

I woke up with a jolt in a bed. I looked around. It was my bed. How had I gotten here? I sat up, my head pounding. I stood up and walked to the kitchen just across the hall and got a drink of water. I leaned against the edge of the small table I owned and sighed.

I remembered that I had been with Sherlock Holmes last night. I remembered the crime scene, and the dead man but that was all I could remember. A loud knock at the door sent me to my living room. I thought about climbing the stairs but decided against it. 

"Come in," I shouted up, quickly regretting that. I plopped down on my couch. The door creaked open, but no one came down.

"You can come down, I am decent," I say, quieter this time. It was John Watson.

"Good morning, Y/N. Are you feeling alright?" he asked. I nodded.

"Why are you here?" I asked, it came out sharper than I wanted it to. "Sorry, I meant like-"

"I know what you mean don't worry," John smiled. He looked to me as to ask permission to sit down across from me. I waved my hand and he sat.

"Sherlock sent me down here. Said it would be unlocked and all and I should have a look at you," John muttered, anger lacing his words.

"Why?" I asked. Was I sick? John cleared his throat.

"You don't remember?" he asked. I shook my head, regretting the act.

"Sherlock drugged you. Or well, gave you a drink with the drug in it because he thought you could handle it," John said bitterly.

"Oh."

"Y-You're not mad? You're not angry that Sherlock Holmes just drugged you?" John's words came out sharply, his anger showing through. 

"No, it was an accident. He didn't realize I couldn't hold my liquor," I said calmly and smiled. John's head fell and he shook it.

"He doesn't do 'accidents.'" John replied. I shrugged. "Alright, let's get you checked out." John grabbed a flashlight and looked at my eyes, flicking it back and forth.

"I don't mean to be rude, but can you hurry? I had work to go to," I urged. John just chuckled.

"Sherlock pardoned you from the library for being sick. Said you'd be back in a few days. As for the pub you worked at it got shut down as of last night. They're investigating it now and found strong evidence of the drug in various types of alcohol there. They're interrogating everyone who works there." John said absently. 

"What about me?" I ask quietly as he sits back down.

"Pardoned also. Sherlock insists you had nothing to do with it," he said. I nodded thankfully. 

"What am I going to do about a job?" I ask quietly. John hesitated before taking a deep breath.

"If you need help, I could keep an eye out for some jobs," he said thoughtfully. I nodded.

"Yes, thank you," I breathed out.

"As of your condition right now, don't leave the flat, please. You're to rest for a few days. The drugs are not out of your system and Sherlock is right that it will effect everyone differently," he said. "Doctor's orders." 

I smiled and nodded. With that John took his leave.

"Thank you for checking up on me," I said quickly. John smiled and nodded. "Have a good day."

The door closed softly and I stood up and headed to my room. I was still in the clothes I had on last night. 

I stopped at my door to see a small note on it. 

Sorry I gave you drugged beer. -SH


	3. Chapter 3: Vents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock drags you along to a crime scene, but what for? He doesn't need you, you simply get in the way. Or at least that's what you think.

~Nearly 2 hours later~

"A double murder," he said, amusement flickering in his eyes. 

His words echoed in my head and I shot up, clambering up the stairs of 221C. I left my door wide open, tripped going up the stairs of 221B then flung the door open. They were yelling or arguing about something. John was standing by Sherlock, two tea cups in his hand looking concerned, afraid, and angry.

"Mr. Holmes, you said there was a double murder when I came with you to the crime scene, correct?" I panted. Sherlock stood up carefully and John set down both tea cups.

"You took her to a crime scene, too? Christ, Sherlock!" John said angrily. Sherlock shot him a glare and John sighed, give up.

"Correct," He said slowly.

"So where was the second body?" I asked. Sherlock smirked, glancing at John.

"Would you be interested in a cup of tea and a job at Scotland Yard?" Sherlock smirked.

~*~*~

"Lestrade has an opening? And he wants me?" I ask.

"Well, yes... he has an opening and no not really. But if I tell him about you, he'll accept you," Sherlock said.

"How come?"

"Because I am Sherlock Holmes." He replied bluntly.

"I-I have no experience in the law or cop area. I would have to enter schooling for years and-" I began but Sherlock cut me off again.

"You're smart. You don't need to know the law area, you just do what you must. You do what you did at the crime scene. I was testing you when I said there was two bodies. Only know you noticed but, we can work on that. That's all there is to it," Sherlock said. 

"I didn't do anything at the crime scene, though," I grumbled and he paused. 

"I will talk to Lestrade, if he can't get you in because of law or something, you can work with me. It's nice to have a second opinion. I always need someone to work with," Sherlock finished.

"What am I, chop liver?" John asks bitterly.

"You don't go with me much anymore. You always have 'work' or whatever," Sherlock pouted. John rolled his eyes.

"Alright," I sighed, tired of their bickering already.

"Alright, what?" Sherlock asked.

"I am open to Scotland Yard though I highly doubt they will accept me. I would be useless," I said.

"No one is ever useless. Just some people are more useless than others," Sherlock commented casually. I laughed, and John cracked a small smile.

"Now, I don't mean to shoo you out but-" John began but the door bell rang. 

"Client," Sherlock and John said at the same time. Light footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs, Sherlock eased back in his seat, and John sat down in his. I retreated the the couch farthest to the wall.

"Love problem, husband is most likely cheating on her," Sherlock mumbled.

"How can you even-" I began to ask but the door creaked open.

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?" The women asked.

"Yes, why don't you sit down," John said, gesturing to the chair. She sat down gratefully. 

"Tell us, why are you here?" Sherlock asked. Sherlock already knows why she is here so why is he asking?

"It's about my husband. I believe he is cheating on me with another woman," the woman said. "Oh please, tell me if he is! I can't bare it any longer!" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes." He said.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Yes, your husband is cheating on you, now get out," he said standing up and showing her to the door. She made several protests but Sherlock just pushed her out. I stood up.

"That was a bit rude, don't you think?" I suggested. John sighed and opened up his newspaper.

"She was boring. I need a case, a good case, not some easy case that John could solve," Sherlock grumbled. I hid my smile as John glared up at him. 

~*~

Two days later.

With nothing to do and being cooped up in my flat, I cleaned, I played piano, watched telly, made lots of meals.

I was getting bored and antsy. I didn't even have anything to read! I had already read more than half the books I owned before moving to 221C but now that I was cooped up, I read all of them. 

I was frustrated as I ran around my flat, bouncing on furniture, sitting on every chair as wrong as I could. I needed to get out. Get some fresh air. This was all because of Sherlock, really. If he hadn't drugged me then I could have been merry on my way. I groaned.

I heard the faint sound of a doorbell ringing. I rushed up the stairs and took a peek. Ms. Hudson directed them up the stairs then retreated back to her flat. After the person had reached half way up the stairs I followed.

I took quiet careful steps, trying my hardest not to make a sound. The door shut just as I reached the top few steps. I sighed, sliding to the floor against the door and listening. 

"Mr. Holmes," a deep manly voice said.

"Yes, that's me," Sherlock responded in an uninterested tone. 

"Right," the man said. By the creak of the chair I could tell he sat down. 

"So, what's you problem?" John asked. 

"It's my brother," the man said grimly. "He was killed about a month ago... perished in a fire." The man spoke so sadly. If I wasn't hiding I would have tried to comfort him.

"Yes... continue," Sherlock urged.

"Well, I was walking down the street one day when suddenly I saw him. It wasn't no hallucination, I swear. When he saw me he ran away so I chased him and I caught his coat. This was ripped off of his coat" I heard shuffling and assumed that he was showing them the piece of material. "I know it was my brother, I can't be fooled like that."

"Hm... Y/N, would you like to share your input?" Sherlock said bluntly. I felt the color drain from my face. I stood up and opened the door softly.

"I am sorry, Mr. Holmes. I-I just wanted to-" 

"Sherlock. Call me Sherlock. I've already told you that. Mr. Holmes is too fancy," he grumbled, making a face. "Now sit down over there and we'll continue." I did as I was told sitting on the couch against the wall like I had the last time. I almost expected him to yell at me, but he didn't. And for that I was grateful. The man waited until Sherlock nodded and then he continued.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, leaning forward hopefully. Sherlock slowly put his hands in a 'thinking' position and sighed.

"I will take your case," Sherlock concluded.

~*~*~*~ 

I was in the middle of watching telly when I heard a bold knock on the door. I walked up the slightly creaky stairs and opened the door. 

"Good morning, Y/N. Get your coat, we've got a case." Sherlock said and he began to turn around.

"Wait! I-I can't just leave!" I yell. I run down to snatch my coat and run back up the stairs stepping two steps at a time.

"And yet you grabbed your coat," Sherlock commented. I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. He had a bloody point... "Come along." 

We headed out to the road and called for a cab. Once we got in I realized that I didn't even know where I was going or what I was doing.

"So.. what's the case?" I ask, trying to make small talk as I looked out the window.

"A women murdered in a locked room with one window that was small enough to fit a child through.." Sherlock said, trailing off to his own thoughts.

"That's...interesting." I tried. "Where is the scene at?" 

"About five miles away from here in a small flat four stories up. 545A Charleston Street." He responded, making no indication to further continue our conversation. But I tried anyway again.

"So, does John know I am with you?" I ask and look over to him.

"Yes of course." He said meeting my eyes once before turning to his phone and texting someone.

"Are you sure?" I ask. I had a strong feeling that he did not tell John.

"Why would I need to tell him where you're going to be anyway? It's not like your his pet and need to know where you are and what you're doing all the time. I don't understand that sudden attachment to you that he has." Sherlock rumbled out. Great. So he hadn't told John.

"Well you did drug me.." I said, my words lightly coated with bitterness.

"Well you're fine now." He said bluntly.

"Yes I am! But no thank's to you I have not only lost my job as a bartender, but now most likely as a librarian! That was good pay!" I shot back, offended. What did I expect? For this human robot to have feelings?

"You're angry and offended, why?" he asks, his eyebrows furrowing and he looked concerned. 

"I am going to call John." I said, digging in my coat pocket to find my phone.

"No!" Sherlock said quickly and sharply. His hands were up, one closer to my phone trying to grab it. "Don't call John. He's busy." Sherlock pleaded, or at least pleaded to an emotionless robot could do. 

"You didn't tell John?" I ask.

"No. There is no reason to. I don't need him yelling at me for allowing you to step foot out of the flat for Gods' sake," Sherlock grumbled, crossed his arms, and leaned back. "We're here." I suddenly felt a pang of guilt. John had yelled at Sherlock for drugging me. Of course that should be expected but still... I had gotten Sherlock into trouble. I shook the thoughts from my head. Sherlock was the one who drugged me. He should feel bad, not me!

We payed the cabbie and walked up to the scene. Police tap lined the building, and a women with milk chocolate brown skin stood my one of the police cars, her frizzy brown hair bouncing as she walked over to us.

"Dragging along another pet, Freak?" she asked. Pet? Who was this women.

"Yes, now move." Sherlock said bitterly.

"She can't be on scene." she said.

"Why not?" he asked, pausing with his hand on the tape.

"Regulations. New ones, too. No one is allowed on scene without a badge and/or police invitations."

"We were invited." Sherlock said, anger growing in him. The woman glared at him.

"You might be, but she isn't," she said, pointing at me. I stepped to the side, as I was standing behind Sherlock before.

"Excuse me, you are Sgt. Donovan, correct?" I said, standing up straighter and making my words as sharp as I could. I had glanced at her name tag that was sticking out of her coat through her shirt. Why she was wearing one was beyond me. I took out a small sticky note and pen that had been buried in my coat. I had a lot of odds and ends in my pockets. I wrote down her name.

"I am Detective Inspector Captain L/N. I suggest you move aside before I call you in." I said boldly, hoping my act held up. Her face drained and she dropped the act instantly. 

"I-I am sorry, Captain. It was just regulations and-"

"Come along, Mr. Holmes. You have work to do." I interrupted her and ducked under the tape. Sherlock followed and once she was out of earshot I sighed. I looked over to see Sherlock grinning.

"I could get fined for doing something as crazy as that!" I said sharply. 

"Oh you won't. Trust me." Sherlock looked over to me, and I smiled and laughed softly.

"Detective Inspector Captain Y/N!" I breathed out, giggling as I tried to cover my mouth. Sherlock's low chuckle sent shivers through me, but none the less, I made him laugh.

"Shh, now. We don't giggle at crime scenes." Sherlock said, putting a straight face on. I nodded, doing the same before looking up at him. I couldn't help but smile as he did, too.

We walked in and climbed the four flights of stairs to the scene. A woman's body lay in the middle of the blood, her neck slashed. I nearly puked right here and I swayed on my feet slightly.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, looking back at me.

"Yea... it's just you-you don't get used to seeing dead bodies.." I say softly.

"No. You just become numb to it." he said and we walked in further. Sherlock knelt down, looking at the body. I stood a little bit away from him, fidgeting with my hands and looking around. Behind a chair, something metal poked out-

"Y/N?" A voice called out. I turned around to see Lestrade.

"Oh, hi Lestrade." I say, he gave me a nod of greeting. 

He looked down at Sherlock who was closely looking at her jewelry.

"Any ideas? I mean I know you can't touch anything without having a suit on and all but it never hurts for a new input." He said I shrugged lightly. Sherlock bounced up.

"Another woman killed her. One of her rings is missing on her finger and she was cut with a kitchen knife. There was still lettuce left on it for crying out loud." Sherlock grumbled. "The woman who did this was looking for revenge of some sort. Possibly a love situation. The dead woman is in her late thirties, a widow looking for love." He concluded. 

"Wow." I say under my breath, Sherlock glances at me, amused.

"We are looking for an entrance, not including the window or door. Anything," Sherlock said looking around, he headed to the kitchen where he looking in every cupboard trying to find something. No one was paying any attention to me, so I sauntered over to the chair and pushed it away.

"Oi! You can't do that! Who the bloody hell do you think you are?! That is evidence!" A man yelled at me, and everyone turned to look at me. My face turned deep red and I struggled for words.

"A vent," I squeaked out. Through the commotion, Lestrade and Sherlock came out to the living room. The man began moving towards me, but Sherlock reached his arm out and grabbed it.

"Anderson, sit down and shut up," Sherlock said sharply. Lestrade nodded and Anderson grabbed for words. Sherlock moved towards me, carefully pushing me away as he looked at the vent.

"It's big enough for a human to fit into and both screws are uneven and loose." Sherlock stood up again.

"Y/N-" Lestrade began.

"I am sorry for my rash decision. I am only trying to help-" I was cut off again by Sherlock.

"We are looking for a woman in her late thirties, blonde hair, and small." 

"Blonde?" Lestrade asks. Sherlock nodded"

"She caught her hair on the way," he pointed to the screw where a few pieces of hair were tangled in with the screws.

~*~*~

After assessing the situation and talking to Lestrade, we left the scene. Sgt. Donovan visibly straightened as I walked past. I did everything in my power to look powerful and stern, but it didn't help when Sherlock snorted lightly.

"You laughed," I smiled sheepishly as we got into the taxi-cab. 

"What? Oh yes." Sherlock nodded, a small smile playing at his lips.

"I thought you did have an ounce of humor or laughter in you!" I smiled again then stopped, my face draining in guilt. "I-I didn't mean that in an offensive way.."

Sherlock looked over at me and gave me a short smile. "I know what you meant." I gave a small sigh of relief. A few minutes of comfortable silence passed by before I tried again to strike up a conversation.

"So... Is this a one time thing or..." I trailed off. Or would I be working with him? I didn't want to sound pushy and put pressure on him that he needed to have me as his partner but then again, who could ever possibly make Sherlock do anything? 

Sherlock looked over at me again and studied me.

"Are you afraid of financial issues? Is that why?" He asked. 

"Well, no. Yes. Yes and no," I struggled for words. I was sure I no longer had a job at the library anymore and without it I had no way to keep up with the bills or get money. Venturing about with Sherlock could get me that money, but it was also an unstable job. What if we don't get a case for a while? I would be out of luck. What happens if we ran into a killer or something? What if I got injured? What if Sherlock got injured?

Sherlock sighed. "It's always money issues with everyone.." he grumbled. "It's good pay; if that is what's bothering you. And Ms. Hudson would never kick someone out," he said lightly. I smiled again, and turned to look out the window.

~*~*~

"Vents! Yes we know she went through the vents but that would mean she knew the vent systems well in that building but the only person who repairs and has the layout for the building is an old man who died four years ago!" Sherlock vented, shouting and walking on the furniture. 

I sat calmly with a tea cup in hand while he stepped over me on the couch.

"It's easy to get the floor layouts from someone who is dead, Sherlock," I said softly. 

"No you don't understand! He died in a fire; all belongings destroyed!" he growled.

"She could've set the fire? Grabbed the information and ran? A dead man can't tell anyone anything." I suggested. 

"Possibly.. yes.." Sherlock said, swiftly jumping off the couch and plopping down on his chair.

"Maybe you're just tired? Not thinking straight?" I suggested, he looked upset. 

"No. And why are you so helpful and caring all of the sudden? Hm?" Sherlock spit out. 

"I don't know, why are you so jittery and bitter all of the sudden?" I fired back. I felt slightly bad when he didn't respond.

"I apologize, I am not myself today.." Sherlock muttered.

"I understand. I am going back to my flat. You know where to find me if you need anything," I say quietly, standing up to put my empty mug away. I closed the door to 221 B and headed back down to my flat.

I sighed as I shut the door and headed down the stairs. I hung up my dark coat and beanie and shrugged off my shoes.

~*~

I sat down on my love seat, turning towards the inviting heat of the fire place. Everything was quiet and peaceful.

"Y/N! It's the man! The man's brother!" Sherlock yelled, making me jump.

"What!?"

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I am currently working on more! Feel free to tell me about spelling errors, grammar issues, etc. If you have any suggestions please tell me, I love to hear what you want, or feel!


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